


The Bed

by Beccorsola



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:28:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22853251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beccorsola/pseuds/Beccorsola
Summary: "They usually didn’t touch, their allegiance still too new, but the circumstances called for it."Draco is forced to confront his past, and Hermione is there for him to help ease the pain of remembering.*Part of a series [un-named]*
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 70





	The Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Another of my older stories I've had completed, part of the alternate universe that Savage + Finding Lavender is in. The Bed takes place time wise before Hermione and Draco find Lavender. Enjoy~

* * *

Subject; Fenrir Greyback  
Status; Confirmed Dead  
(21/06/1998)  
Condition; Body secured, awaiting collection.  
Other; Requires further investigation, but cause of death believed to be a combination of Basilisk poison, multiple sources of infection and ultimately starvation. We believe his Lycanthropy ensured his survival for this long, but from the condition of Mr. G’s corpse it appears he succumbed anywhere between 10 to 14 days prior to discovery. Including current location for collection until 24/06/1998, and replies until 25/06/1998. Usual codes applies.   
H.J.G. 

* * *

Draco was hunched over, his stomach emptying itself yet again as he retched and gasped, his throat acidic and his eyes burning. And Hermione was there beside him, crooning soothing sounds as she palmed one hand across his forehead to hold back his hair and the other rubbing gentle circles along his spine. They usually didn’t touch, their allegiance still too new, but the circumstances called for it. And he didn’t like it but he was grateful for it so he let her. His stomach rolled, threatening, and he clutched at his thighs trying to find some stability as he did his best to catch his breath. Several minutes passed, and his queasiness retreated and he could take a deep breath again without consequences, so he took another one, and several more until he felt like he could breathe more easily. Pushing himself upright, he noticed his comrade held out a bottle of water and he took it, taking a big gulp as Hermione cleaned up the mess without a word. And he was faintly embarrassed. He couldn’t look her in the eye so instead he just studied the bottle he held. But he needn’t have worried because she was stepping away, returning to the putrid corpse he had recoiled from, and she lifted her wand and began a series of complex protective, security and diagnostic spells. She didn’t need him for this so he just took a step backward, wrestling with himself not to run from the smell, the sight, the memories. He had a job, a responsibility, and he had to stay. So he stayed and watched as Hermione did her job and fulfilled her responsibilities.

At last, she was done and she stepped backward from the corpse, suddenly filled with weariness and despite herself, grief. Barely, but it was there. Her spells had revealed that the body did indeed belong to their target, and that death had not come quickly or gently. She looked around, and her eyes caught Draco’s. Already gaunt, the sick-induced paleness emphasised the shadows under his eyes and the sharpness of his bones. He didn’t move as she spoke.

“Target confirmed. It’s Fenrir Greyback. I’m not advanced enough but I think he’s been dead around—“  
“Roughly a week and a half.”  
“Yes. That’s what the spells have indicated. Neville was correct when he said he thought he’d made contact with the sword; the body is riddled with Basilisk poison. He died slow, and he suffered the entire time.”  
“Good.”

Draco’s body jerked, the movement rough as he nodded toward the body.

“I’ll go set up the encampment.”

She bypassed the still man, his eyes focused intently on the sealed corpse, and she didn’t need to say anything more. She knew of their history, and she knew he needed to end it. So she walked until she was almost out of sight, and surrounded by the dense forestry, began her warding.

He waited until her footsteps faded and her voice was nothing more than a whisper on the wind before he could move, his steps mechanical. He couldn’t get too near because the heightened smell of decomposition revolted his stomach, and he didn’t want to get too close because despite it all, he was still afraid of what Greyback had meant to him and what he represented. But he couldn’t stop moving because he didn’t want to think too much so instead, he faltered and moved from one side to the other as though he was against a barrier. He couldn’t help but look down, looking for a trace, any trace, that revealed the essence of Greyback. But there wasn’t any. She had been right. His Maker had died horrifically. The Basilisk poison hadn’t been kind, and he could smell the toxicity seeping from the various infected scars and sores on the bloated body. His stomach rebelled, and Draco closed his eyes, memories playing behind his eyelids. 

* * *

He remembered the immediate fear he had felt the first time Greyback approached him, so sharp his twelve-year-old body had shaken. And he had felt so confused and dirty at the look in his eyes and he remembered how the relief was immense when his father had frowned, pulling him away. 

  
He remembered when he was sixteen and he was so frightened and he just couldn’t kill Professor Dumbledore. He hadn’t been able to hold back his tears when his Godfather stepped in, and Dumbledore wasn’t there anymore. Instead it was Greyback, his sour breath dusting over his face as he lapped up Draco’s agitation with a sinister grin and muttered so close to his ears that he shuddered; _soon_.

  
And then he was yelping as his mother shrieked, begging _no no no not that, please, my Lord, no_ but it didn’t matter because Voldemort’s eyes were glacial and he dismissed them with a wave of a hand and Bellatrix was cackling manically. He remembered how it felt, rough calloused fingers wrapping around his neck and he couldn’t do anything but scream and wail as Greyback slammed him to the granite ground and sank his teeth into his neck and he thought that was it, he was dying. But then Greyback sat back and straddled him, blood and skin smeared over his rotten teeth and he grunted in pleasure when Draco moaned, pained tears blurring his vision until everything went black. 

  
He especially remembered the agony he felt when he was alone and naked standing under the full moon, his voice hoarse as he screamed while his bones snapped and cracked and realigned themselves and his hair changed and his body changed and he wasn’t Draco anymore. He was so angry and so hungry and all he could do was howl and rip at his fur until he was more blood than not, and then he was running but he wasn’t alone anymore. His Maker was there and he was roaring in animalistic glee as he slammed Draco into the ground and they fought, bared teeth gnashing at each other and sharp nails tearing flesh. He should have died but he didn’t. 

  
He remembered that his mother’s trembling hands were tender as she cleaned his scars, the bathtub stained a dirty pink and that she cried as he clenched and unclenched his hands and said; _I’m sorry, mother, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I couldn’t do it, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry._

  
He remembered his father, so pale and anxious, shielding his son the best he could, his fingers digging into his shoulders whenever Greyback came to the Manor and his eyes lit up at the sight of the blonde boy. And he hated himself but he felt so small and spineless against the dirty desire in his eyes and all he could do was close his eyes in tired protest. All he could do was hide away. All he could do was run under the full moons, his chest heaving with panic as his human and Lycanthrope brain screamed _don’t let him get you_.

  
Then his life was chaos. People were dying, Killing Curses and offensive spells lighting up the air, and the Castle groaned and broke around him. He watched in mute horror as the Fiendfyre swallowed up Vincent with a gulp and he was thrown out of the Room of Requirement. He stumbled about, his Wolf within bellowing in confusion and bloodlust and he just needed to _get out get out get out_! Then he was choking, his body pressed against the Castle wall, calloused fingers bruising his pale throat. Greyback chuckled, the tone husky, as he slurped his rough tongue against Draco’s cheek and he looked into the eyes he hated so much. 

And he remembered, though he wished he didn’t, how he heard a crystal clear gasp, a hurried incantation and the spell made contact and then he was free, but she wasn’t. He was powerless so the only thing he could do was watch as Greyback snarled at Lavender Brown, and suddenly they were crashing through the glass window and he ran. 

  
Harry was dead and he had to do it, he walked across the courtyard and the Dark Load embraced him but he focused on his mother instead, whose fingers were shaking as she reached for him and he was in her arms and she held him so tight. 

  
Harry wasn’t dead, and Voldemort was yelling and the Death Eaters were roaring and he was so tired, he didn’t want to. So he looked into his mother’s eyes and she said _no_ and their hands found each other, and they were pulling each other forward, turning away from the Battle and they Disapparated and they didn’t come back.

  
_And now I’m free. I’m finally free._

He opened his eyes and turned away from the body of Fenrir Greyback.

* * *

Hermione glanced up momentarily as she heard Draco rouse himself, and she finished off the Mission Recap for Kingsley just as he brushed aside the tent’s opening and faltered. He looked so wounded, she thought, like he doesn’t know where to start. So she tapped at the table and waited for him to take a seat opposite her before she got up to begin dinner. Beans and toast again. He remained unmoving, his eyes fluttering shut several times and his chest heaving with the occasional deep sighs. So she left him with his memories, and she did what she did best, tending to the little things. They ate in silence, and she washed up in lieu of Draco, and did the recon checks of the immediate area and the secure body. And then it was time to retire so she curled her fingers around Draco’s biceps and pulled him up, and he followed after her as she led him into his quarters of the tent. 

She thought that would have been enough, but his eyes were still distant and his hands twitched. So she stepped back into her ‘mother’ role and she unbuttoned Draco’s shirt, loosened his belt buckle, unzipped his trousers. She stripped him down to his underwear and prepared his bed and pushed him into a sitting position before she tidied away his clothes. When she turned back, he was laying down and his eyes met hers and even as she wanted to take a step back, he was reaching out and his voice was broken.

“Don’t.”

She couldn’t, so she didn’t. Unbuttoning her shirt, loosening her belt buckle and unzipping her jeans, she stripped down to her underwear too and slipped into the cot with Draco, their bodies flush against each other and she wrapped her arms over his waist just as he fisted her hair and rested his cheek against her forehead. They didn’t speak to begin with, Hermione’s body holding Draco firm as he shook and trembled and remembered. Then his shaking and trembling slowed, and his sighs lessened, and his tense body began to unwind and he let go of Hermione’s hair, moving his hand to her bare back instead. He didn’t know what to say, if he should say, if he wanted to say so instead he focused on the sensation of Hermione’s warm fingers tracing his bony spine and tucked his leg over her calf. And she looked up then, and their lips were so close, warm breaths mingling. 

“I’m sorry, Malfoy.”  
“Don’t be.”  
“Not for him. For you.”  
“Hmm.”

Hermione continued to trace circles up and down Draco’s spine, and he inclined his head, his lips making contact on her closed eyelid, on her button nose, the corner of her lips, her jawline, the pulse spot on her neck. And she sighed and stopped her hands, lowering them to his bony hip bones.

“Granger..?”  
“Yes.”

Hermione tugged at Draco’s hips gently as they aligned their heads together and it was the witch who pressed her chapped lips against his first, and he was surprised at how soothing it was. He found a peace, the buzzing in his head easing as he pushed his tongue against her mouth and she complied. She shifted away slightly even as her fingers tightened against his hips and her mouth widened and her tongue chased his, and he opened his eyes to see one of her knees raising in the air, her dainty feet firm on the bed as her legs opened. Accepting the invitation, he propped himself up and angled his body to lay in between, his knees coming up to her arse and she hooked her feet around his thighs. Intimately entwined, they were only separated by their underwear, and they sighed and kissed and touched each other softly. His sharp cheekbones, his broken nose, his indented bite, his nipples, his faded Dark Mark, his scabbed over scars, his prominent ribs. Her chapped lips, her sunburned collarbone, her Mudblood scar, her pierced earlobes, her belly button, her jutting hip bones just like his, and under her knickers. Her breath hitched against his lips as his index finger slipped through her curly pubis hair and in between her inner lips, and he paused, surprised though really he shouldn’t have been.

“You’re wet.”  
“I did say yes.”

She smiled, and it reached her eyes too, and Draco felt a burn inside him. So he kissed her first this time, and she curled her arms around his neck and lifted her hips against him and he couldn’t even try to resist. Scattering barely there kisses along her cheek to her throat and to her collarbone, Draco twisted his wrist and dipped his finger further into her warmth and his thumb brushed against her clit, and she was electrified, her hips arched and she keened. Her short nails dug into his back and she reached down one hand to wrap around his wrist, but he ignored her, and added a second finger to join the first and he crooked them, slipping inside her and Hermione bit her lips at the heat and she squeezed her knees into his thighs. She found it hard to breathe, and even more so as Draco began to slide his fingers into her rhythmically, brushing her clit every time and she was so wet and Draco’s lips were on hers, tongues tangling and breaths shared. And then he touched something inside her and she felt like something was going to shatter and she shook her head, but Draco just smiled at her and she couldn’t quite understand what he was saying so she released his wrist and slapped at his chest, even as her head rolled back into the pillow. Her body tightened and arched up again, and he kissed the curve of her breast above her bra and he touched her just right, there and there and there and she was gasping, and she shattered. Her thighs clamped together, her calves shaking against the back of his and she moaned, her vision blurry and her brain roaring with euphoria. When she came to, her eyes uncrossing, she smiled and tugged Draco’s head down for a soft kiss and the tender thankfulness of it made him flush. She opened up her thighs, feeling boneless, and he removed his fingers and sat back on his haunches while she propped herself onto her elbows.

“You can take them off, Draco.”

He hesitated, so Hermione sat up, reaching behind her to unclasp her bra, exposing her hard nipples to him and he couldn’t take his eyes off them. She laughed, throaty, and he bent over and brushed his tongue lightly over the dusky nubs, evoking a moan that went straight to his nether region. He couldn’t get enough of her texture, her taste, her scent and he sucked at her perky nipples, and she threaded her fingers through his silver blonde hair, and it was almost too much. He shuddered and leaned back again, taking in a deep breath and Hermione glanced down and understood. So she laid back, lifting her hips to skim her knickers down over her thighs, knees, ankles before finally being discarded to the floor and she opened her legs, resting her hands on her lower belly as she watched Draco catch himself.

“Granger, I.. Hermione, shit.”  
“Don’t think about it, Draco. Tonight belongs to tonight.”

He got off the bed, and Hermione thought for a moment he was leaving but he was only hooking his thumbs into his boxers, pushing it down over his painfully hard erection. She hadn’t had many experiences before, and she couldn’t keep her eyes off him and Draco cheeks burned. She reached out to him, so he stepped forward and pressed a knee on the cot, entwining his fingers with hers and she pulled. So finally, he kneeled between her thighs, hooking her legs over his, his hands circling her waist. And she reached down, her nimble fingers brushing over his erection and he jerked. Swearing at her, he pinned her wrists back up by her head and she giggled, throaty and sweet, and he bent his head so their lips could touch, the kiss deepening quickly. His erection brushed against her inner thigh, dotting the skin with fluid, and she grinded against him. Releasing one of Hermione’s wrists, causing her to curl her free hand on his neck, he reached between them and slipped his fingers into her inner lips and she was so ready for him the way he was ready for her. So he spread her open, and he was pressing against her entrance. He looked at her, and she looked back, and she trusted him so he covered her lips with his as he angled his hips, pushing into her. She was so hot and tight, and she hissed and tightened around him, and he couldn’t help it, he jerked his hips and completely sheathed himself into her, their pubis hairs mixing. Hermione crossed her legs around his waist and held him in place, and a singular tear escaped and she tried to hide it but he kissed it before she could and whispered _sorry_ against her skin and she shook her head. 

  
He kept his hips still as he released her wrists, placing his hands on the mattress on both sides of her head, and he kissed her button nose gently and murmured wordless sentiments until finally she relaxed, uncrossing her legs and placing her feet on the mattress by his calves, and her hands brushed against their joining, his pubis hairs, his belly button, his ribs and he smiled at her then. And she smiled back. 

  
Draco moved his hips again, back and forward, out and in, and he leaned his forehead against Hermione’s as she trembled and sighed and bit her lips, pleasure blooming in her eyes. And the cot creaked, loud amongst the pants and gasps and contact of their skin, and Draco was burning as he cocked his hips and Hermione responded with a blissfully sharp inhale. So he did it again, harder, faster, and she dug her nails into his ribs as she moaned breathlessly and he rutted against her. Their lips hovered over each other, and they stared into each other’s eyes even as they began to blur, and Draco’s arms strained as he slammed his hips into Hermione’s, the slapping adding to their frenzy as they twisted and pushed and then the fire took them over. Hermione dug her head backward into the pillow, her breasts shaking as her body trembled and she shoved her hips upwards to meet Draco’s and all she could do was pant and let out weak mewls. And Draco dropped his head onto the pillow by Hermione, his eyes and brain glazed with the animalistic desire to breed and he choked out raw whimpers as he grinded against the witch, slamming her down into the cot until her mewls grew in intensity and she yelped as she shattered again, bearing down on him. He hissed as she tightened around him, losing his rhythm as he jerked into her rapidly, pushing and pushing as she cried out and he stiffened with a hoarse groan, their hips joined at the pubis. His hips twitched as he found his release and he kept them together, lowering his body so their stomachs and chests were flush. He was breathing heavily, as was she, and she pushed her fingers through his hair until he managed to look at her, and the skin by his eyes crinkled and she kissed him, soft and gentle and caring, and he kissed her back, thankful and grateful and appreciative.

They remained together as their skin cooled and bodies softened and the lusty glaze lifted, the witch contentedly stroking Draco’s hair and he snaked his fingers along her jawline. And then they were ready, so he pulled out, clambering off the bed momentarily before returning with wash cloths and they cleaned up and murmured the necessary contraceptive spell. And they looked at each other, naked as they sat opposite each other. And Hermione simply laid back down, turning her arse up so she laid on her sides and she half pushed her top body up. And Draco climbed in behind her, his arm occupying the space she’d left for him and they made themselves comfortable around each other.

“Thank you.”  
“No problem.”

Hermione rested her head on Draco’s arm and snuggled in, letting out a small sigh as her eyes drooped. Draco crossed his other arm across his chest between their bodies and angled his body inward, and he just had one thought before he slept.

_I’m free._


End file.
